


Enforcer Station #53

by ntldr



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Cops and Mercenaries, Eventual Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10023788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ntldr/pseuds/ntldr
Summary: The Enforcers of Praxus are known across Cybertron to be the the pillars of justice.  They nuture and serve their communities professionally and with distinction, they bring swift action against those who would put Praxus's citizens in danger, and they are absolutely, definitely, certainly holdingnosecrets from the general public.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is brought to you by the many wonderful conversations between me, LevitateToHell and BalloonArcade.

The thick haze that persistently blanketed the factories nearby the crime scene had turned the crowd that had gathered into strange, misshapen ghosts at the edge of his vision, and Prowl tried to ignore their curious optics staring at his every move. They were at least wise enough to stay behind the temporary police barricade and out of his way. The same haze muffled what they were saying to one another, making it a little easier to pretend that the onlookers weren’t there, though his battle computer also noted that there would be fewer witnesses who could have heard the victim’s cries for help, if he’d made any.

He knelt down by the victim’s head, and _very_ carefully turned the helm to inspect the damage that had partially caved it in.

“Is there enough left that you can get anything from him, Chromedome?”

His partner’s optic band flashed from where he was crouched at the other side of the body.

“Sure, if you want me laid up in a hospital for the next orn. The impact with the ground didn’t kill him. He was still alive for several more breems, long enough to watch what was happening to him and be scared out of his cortex.”

“You could still--”

“No, _thank you._ Have you seen his hand yet?”

He hadn’t. Prowl looked up from the victim’s helm, and his optics flickered down the body, momentarily assessing the stabbed and ripped platting along the chestplate that would have finished him off after the fall had failed to deactivate him, and to the one hand that had its fingers curled around something.

Prowl ignored the too-familiar sensation of his tanks churning. He was the professional on a scene, and needed to act like it.

“...He ripped out his own T-cog?”

The circular organ that was no bigger than his palm sat there quietly, the energon lines that had been supplying having long since drained out and to the ground. Prowl took a second look at the chest injuries.

“...Or--?””

“His killer put it there,” Chromedome finished.

The stab wounds weren’t just the fatal blow. His attacker had been _digging_ for something, Prowl realized. Not the cleanest of surgeries, but he’d known where the T-cog would be, and had gone after it while the mech had still been alive. Thankfully he’d bled out his energon shortly after that, but the thought of the victim watching his own T-cog being removed made Prowl’s doorwings shudder.

No wonder Chromedome was loathe to check the victim’s last memories.

“Why would he do that?”

Chromedome shrugged as he reached over and carefully pulled up the victim’s fingers to inspect the T-cog, making sure that nothing else was hidden in his palm. “Calling card?”

“Would make it clear that this was no accident,” Prowl agreed grimly. 

One section of the haze began to glow. The onlookers noticed and stepped aside, and a moment later a pair of headlights spotlighted the two officers. The new mech transformed once he was past the police tape and crossed his arms over his chestplate as he approached them.

“Chromedome. Prowl.”

“Barricade,” Prowl greeted the mech in a likewise deadpan tone. “What are you doing here? This isn’t your jurisdiction.”

“But this is _my_ case. Dispatch told me that one of mine wandered into your district.”

“One of _yours?”_ Chromedome shuffled out of the way as Barricade immediately reached for the same hand that he’d been inspecting.

“Yeah. Murderer specifically targeting his victims, and...uh. Yep.” The officer made a face at the round organ between his fingertips. “Thought so. And takes their T-cog and puts it in their hand, or nearby wherever they were deactivated.”

Prowl and Chromedome glanced at each other.

“...This is _our_ jurisdiction. He may have started in yours, but he’s Station 53’s problem now.”

“What happened to Enforcers working together? The whole Brotherhood of Enforcers thing?” The side of Barricade’s mouth twitched up. “Or are you two just that excited that you _finally_ have something to do? Can’t remember the last time that Station 53 had a good murder investigation.”

“That’s what happens when your district focuses on serving the people instead of shooting suspects on sight.”

“You two wouldn’t last a breem in my quadrant.” Barricade straightened back up, the dead T-cog held in his grasp. “But I’ll gratefully take your help working on _my_ case, so long as this perp’s moved into your neighborhood.”

Prowl’s optics returned to the victim’s body, flickering up and down the entire frame and the surrounding ground, quietly memorizing every aspect of the scene. In the back of his cortex he could all but _hear_ his battle computer chugging away, calculating the exact angle of each stab, the velocity that the body was going when it hit the ground, the maximum time the victim could have still been alive after his T-cog was ripped out, and all the other things that made him feel like he would purge if he allowed himself to troubleshoot the battle computer’s processes.

Sometimes it was nice to have an onboard computer that could make calculations independent of his cortex. He didn’t have to _empathize_ with the victim in order to understand what had happened.

Chromedome was still arguing with Barricade. “You haven’t got any authority in this section of Praxus.”

“And you don’t have authority in _mine._ You want my case notes? Let me work with you. You know, like Enforcers of Praxus _should_ be doing.”

“Station 53 works hard to make sure that the citizens trust what we do and our decisions. Can’t say that’s true for the rest of Praxus’s districts. Especially not yours.”

Barricade stretched his arms out, the T-cog flashing in what little light had penetrated the haze. “My method works in the places where it’s needed! I would love to see you two try to _talk_ this murderer into giving himself up to you. When’s the last time you even fired your sidearm?!”

...Someone had been watching the scene when the victim had been methodically deactivated.

Prowl’s optics widened slightly as that realization crept along his cortex until he was sure that it was a _fact,_ despite the lack of evidence immediately in front of him. His battle computer was sure of it, though, and his cortex was so used to taking its ‘advice’ as reality that now he could only do two things: try to figure out how he acquired all the pieces to the puzzle, or trust in the answer and keep going.

He trusted it.

...So then, who had been watching?

His optics snapped up to the crowd beyond the barricade.

He saw a splash of red.

And just as quickly, as if he’d realized that he’d come under the officer’s direct scrutiny, the red mech was gone, ducking behind the bulk of a shuttle-class femme and vanishing behind the frames of several others.

Prowl narrowed his optics at where the blur had gone.

His battle computer had been indifferent about the identification of some random Cybertronian, up until he’d _ran._

It wouldn’t be the first time his battle computer had narrowed down someone as a person of interest, and the shock of having an officer fall upon them so quickly got him the answers that he needed to verify why he’d targeted them in the first place.

“Maybe I don’t find a _joy_ in shooting anyone! Prowl, are we really letting this piece of slag work with us? Prowl?”

“Prowl?”

“Hmm?” His head snapped back towards the other officers, just as Chromedome started to wiggle his spindly fingers in front of his optics. “What?”

“Are we letting Barricade on _our_ case?”

The black mech scoffed. “Rather, _I_ am letting you assist on _mine.”_

“...You want to try to do this without previous case notes on a known suspect, Chromedome?” Prowl asked. “We need him, and he needs us.”

Chromedome visibly wilted. “If Impactor was here--”

“Impactor isn’t with Station 53 anymore,” Prowl retorted sharply.

“...Right.” With a grunt, Chromedome climbed to his feet and turned to Barricade. “Just do us a favor, and let us conduct our own investigation in _our_ district. We’ll bring you everything that we find. Okay?”

Barricade offered his hand. “Okay.”

While the two officers were shaking on it, Prowl tried to catch one more glimpse of that splotch of red in the crowd. The glow of the more bold onlookers’ headlights was distorting their image further, and he couldn’t make out anything beyond the lights, nor did he have any idea which direction the mech had gone.

His battle computer was _sure_ that the mech knew something, even if Prowl himself didn’t understand why.

“Prowl? Cybertron to Prowl. Hello?”

His attention swiveled back to Chromedome, who was staring at him with his hands on his hips as Barricade continued to inspect the body.

The taller officer switched to comms as he eyed the same direction that Prowl had been looking. _::What’s up?::_

_::Thought I saw something.::_

_::...Frag me if I doubt your instincts. What was it?::_

Prowl’s shoulders lifted up and down as he ventilated and stared at the dark alleys between the factory buildings. _::A witness.::_


	2. Chapter 2

Prowl came online five minutes before the alarm on his chronometer was set to go off, as was his habit, and lay on his berth to do nothing at all.

He liked this part of the orn just before his world officially started. He could ventilate freely, defrag the last few bits of his cortex that were still wandering around after a recharge, ponder his dreams, ponder reality, ponder _everything,_ and by the time the alarm actually did go off he was ready to climb out of the berth and face the orn with a new vigor.

He went through his daily routine without incident. Shower off in the washracks. Polish, especially around the Enforcer markings stamped into his doorwings. Refuel from the dispenser in the living area. Catch up on any Enforcer reports that had been generated overnight. Make sure everything in his apartment was in working order. Lock the door behind him on his way out, and meet up with Chromedome on the road.

The only noise to break the silence of the empty apartment while he was gone would be the hum of the dispenser refreshing itself, and that was how he prefered it to be. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chromedome pressed a fist to his mask-plate as he studied the console screen. “Whirlwind was the sixth mech to be targeted by this guy.”

 _“As far as we know.”_ A live video of Barricade’s face stared at them next to the the scrolling reports being uploaded from his Enforcer station to theirs. _“He may have killed far more, and the relatives of the deactivated are too scared to come forward._ ”

The image of the T-cog gripped in the hand of the dead Whirlwind flashed through Prowl’s cortex. 

“It’s not just a calling card. It’s a warning.”

Barricade nodded. _“Precisely.”_

With a growling huff of his engine, Chromedome pushed his chair slightly back from the console, allowing Prowl to gather and file the rest of the reports on the console while he instead spoke to the other Enforcer over the vid-com. “Any idea what the significance of the T-cog is, aside from scaring the slag out of everyone?”

“He could have easily scratched a symbol into his victim’s armor instead,” Prowl added as he typed. “Removing a T-cog takes an awareness of Cybertronian physiology that not many possess, and that knowledge could be used for intimidation--”

“And it scares the slag out of everyone. That’s what I said.”

Barricade snickered at the glare Prowl shot Chromedome’s way. _“Don’t know. We’re dealing with a serial killer, so don’t try to follow around his cortex’s logic too much, or you’ll blow out a circuit. I’ll keep my optics open for him if he returns to this district. In the meantime, have you made a public alert yet?”_

“Media was already all over the crime scene shortly after you left last night. Nothing sells quite like a dead body.”

_“Scrap. He’ll go into hiding.”_

“As he should, because the public will be helping us look for him.” Prowl cocked an optic ridge. “Or is that not the way your district does things?”

_“It’s not. If I posted half of what these criminals get up to, nobody would live here anymore. As I said, you two wouldn’t last an orn in this quadrant.”_

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Do you have any sketches of our suspect? Possible ID?”

_“None. There have been no witnesses thus far.”_

Prowl wisely kept silent about the mech his battle computer had noticed last night. Chromedome spoke up for him.

“So then what exactly are we looking for? Another body?”

_“Yeah, maybe.”_

“...I was joking! We’re not going to wait around for this guy to strike again!”

_“If you’ve got any leads, be my guest and chase them down. Oh, and be sure to let me know when you do. If you do. You do know how to follow a lead, right?”_

“Fragger.”

Prowl pressed a button to end the call before Barricade could retort, then vented heavily as he swiveled his chair to face his partner. “He’s got all of his case notes in order, and he’s right; there’s not a lot to go on. No witnesses. No motive. No leads.”

“Any relation between the victims?”

“All of them have minor criminal records from gambling to smuggling and a history of violence, though only some were convicted of major crimes. Considering the area they lived in, that’s not unusual. They were all also from Barricade’s quadrant until Whirlwind was killed in ours last night.” 

“So if our guy has moved out from his old district, we can be expecting him to stick around here for a while.”

“Very likely.”

Chromedome groaned, then turned his head to look out the window of their shared office and across the rest of Enforcer Station #53. The two officers had displayed their natural talents in forensics as they made their way up the career ladder and had been working as partners for some time. There were a dozen more offices circling the floor in a “U” shape, and the rest of the main space was occupied with smaller cubicles for each of the lower-ranking officers. Prowl and Chromedome could name each and every of them.

The Enforcers of Station #53 looked after each other. They _were_ a brotherhood. Barricade was just the twice-removed distant cousin.

Impactor had been the uncle that nobody liked until Springer took over his position as Chief.

“Prowl, please tell me you’ve got something viable on our witness.”

“...He’s red?”

Chromedome snapped his optic band back to him.

“...He’s _red.”_

Prowl’s doorwings flapped up and down once in a gesture similar to a shrug of helplessness. “Yes?”

“Oh, let’s see, that narrows it down to, oh, about _one-tenth of Praxus?!_ C’mon, Prowl!”

“That’s all that I could make out! He was there, watching us, and when I noticed him he took off!”

“Fraggit, you’re supposed to be the one with the absurdly miraculous processor calculations!”

“And what does that make you?”

“The good cop with the handsome face.” Chromedome poked his mask-plate. “And the one best at interpreting your slag into something we can use. But all you have is his paint color?! Primus.”

“I didn’t come up with anything else. I don’t even know _why_ I came to the conclusion that he was related. Probably my battle computer picked up on the mech staring at the T-cog before we had noticed it ourselves or something.”

“I’m going to hack into that thing one day.”

Prowl glanced at Chromedome’s long fingers. “Don’t you dare.”

“Kidding. So, a red mech.”

The console keyboard let out a _thunk_ as Chromedome plopped his feet up on it, much to Prowl’s disapproval.

“What now? Patrols until your battle computer screams “That one!” and we make a random arrest on the street?”

“...Would you believe me if I said that wasn’t a bad idea?”

“Prowl!”

“Not to that extreme.” He raised his palms. “Barricade was right; our suspect is going to try remain inconspicuous while he tracks his next victim. We don’t have a way to figure out who that victim is yet, so we should look for any strangers to Praxus that are roaming the area and trying to get to know the streets.”

“That’s an awful lot of potential red mechs. And he could always temporarily repaint himself while the media’s still hot.”

Prowl’s response was interrupted by the console beeping for attention. Another call, but this one without video.

“... _He_ may be able to help us too,” Chromedome offered when he saw the caller’s ID on screen.

“I doubt this is what he’s calling for.”

“Ten credits says that it is.”

“You’re on. Ten credits.”

Prowl pushed the ‘accept’ button on the call. Instantly a familiar, melodious voice broadcasted from the console.

_“So what’s this about ya’ll finally gettin’ a murder investigation without me?!”_

The white mech scowled at Chromedome’s chuckling and raised his voice as he reached for his personal datapad and credit account.

“Good morning, Jazz. We were just about to call you.”

_“Liar.”_

“So you already know the case that we’re working on?” Chromedome asked cheerfully, his mood lifted now that he was ten credits richer. “What’s the story on your side of things?”

 _“Not even small talk first, huh? You must want this guy bad.”_ Jazz let out an exaggerated sigh. _“Well,_ everybody’s _talkin’ ‘bout it now that it’s in the news broadcasts. Before it was only in the back allies of the southern quadrants. Mech kills, rips out a T-cog, and leaves it with the body. Or, get this, sometimes the body is just_ gone, _but the T-cog gets put on a table or a chair, somewhere wherever the victim was last.”_

“We’ve gotten all that from another Enforcer who works in the same district as you,” Prowl said. “So far he has no suspects, no ID, no witnesses and no motives.”

“Prowl thinks he’s got a witness. He’s red.”

_“...Red? That’s all you’ve got for me?”_

“I told him the same thing!” Chromedome snickered, and kept laughing as Prowl spoke over him.

“I would appreciate your help with this, Jazz. Besides patrolling and hoping that we get lucky, we don’t have a method to find him yet, and there’s a 78% chance that he’ll strike again inside of our station’s jurisdiction soon.”

_“I got ya back, Prowler. I’ll keep an audial to the ground. He could still come back this way.”_

“Thank you.”

_”Question, though. Am I doing this as a favor to my favorite mech on Cybertron, or am I gettin’ paid this time?”_

“I’ll let Springer and Barricade know that you’re on our side.”

_“Thanks. Don’t need a cop shootin’ me in the back.”_

“We don’t shoot mechs in the back. You know that.”

_”You don’t, Prowler. That can’t be said for all Enforcers.”_

Prowl turned back to Chromedome as he stood up. “Can you direct Jazz to the sites of the murders close to his location, and also to any of the possible contacts?”

“Be a dispatcher for the informant. Gotcha.” The taller officer slid his chair closer to the console and typed away. “And where are you going?”

“Hunting.” Prowl checked where his blaster sat in his subspace pocket, and headed for the door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As much as Chromedome had made fun of it, deep down Prowl did _hope_ that his battle computer would pick up on something that he didn’t consciously notice and give him a hint to the whereabouts of the red mech, or his identification. But it was quiet all through the patrol, only giving input for other things that had nothing to do with the case, like warning him of a couple of reckless drivers up ahead before he’d seen them. As everyone else slowed on the highway with the anticipation that there must be heavy traffic in the distance, Prowl instead sped up and switched on his emergency lights, and a few breems later he’d found the two femmes that were roaring back and forth between lanes as they screeched obscenities at each other and scared vorns off of everyone else’s life.

A quick call to dispatch summoned lower-ranking officers to stop them further down the road, and while that was dealt with Prowl returned to his fruitless patrol. He stopped paying attention to the incident’s notes over the comms when one femme exclaimed that the other had stolen her shade of purple. He already knew that the younger officers would be having a good laugh about it back at the station.

So far that had been the highlight of his orn. Prowl could picture Barricade’s smirking face if thought that this what a regular shift was like for him, and that frustration only gave more incentive to keep searching.

But it was like trying to sniff out a glitch-mouse in a wire nest. He recognized a few tourists and other guests to Praxus who looked up at the skyscrapers instead of where they were walking or driving, but only a few of them fit the description of who he was looking for, and of that smaller group none of them were recognized by his battle computer. One of them had even purposely flagged Prowl down to ask the officer for directions around the city.

He wasn’t getting anywhere like this. And meanwhile the killer was somewhere out there, perhaps stalking his next victim, while Prowl was putting his best bet on his battle computer randomly identifying his mech in the crowd. This was _silly._

The second traffic rush of the day was beginning to ebb, and Prowl was about to call it an orn and head back to his apartment to come up with a better plan once he’d had a good recharge when his attention was suddenly yanked to a splash of red inconspicuously moving along with the rest of the vehicles in front of him.

His battle computer lit up.

_That one._

At first he didn’t believe his luck. But the instinctive sense within him pressed at his cortex, imploring him to trust the battle computer’s conclusion.

And so he began to tail the vehicle.

The red mech showed no indication of being in a hurry to get somewhere, though he was speeding and pushing the safest maximum limit. Trying to keep himself off of his target’s radar, Prowl didn’t chase him, instead using his knowledge of Praxus to duck into connecting side-streets that would feed back into the main highway where the red mech stayed as he pushed on faster and faster, until traffic would suddenly bottleneck, and he’d have to re-join the pack until the obstacle that everyone was driving around was cleared.

If this mech was the killer then he wasn’t good at keeping a low profile, Prowl decided. Not a lot of murders went racing after a successful kill.

...Not the sane ones, anyway.

Still, he was sure the red mech had something to do with Whirlwind’s death, and he kept tracking him, zipping back and forth along the streets, staying out of sight whenever possible, and quietly enjoying his hunt of the unaware mech. It wasn’t everyday that he he got practice a game of turbo-cat and glitch-mouse like this. The officer was nowhere near as speedy or as agile as his suspect, but as long as this did not evolve into a full-on chase he could--

He came to the end of an alley, zoomed up a hidden entry-ramp to get back on the highway, and less than five lengths in front of him was the red mech, stopped and transformed and glaring him down with his arms crossed over his chestplate, heedless to the traffic whooshing past him on either side.

Prowl’s brakes squealed as he slammed on them. He fishtailed, then also transformed, stumbling the last few steps to not plunge straight into the other mech. 

By Primus, _they were still in the middle of the highway._ Other vehicles were rushing past, some blaring their horns as they swerved to avoid them.

The red mech showed no inclination that he was bothered by this. He instead scowled down at Prowl.

It was then Prowl realized that his suspect was almost a head taller than him, and packed with servos.

...Oops.

“Any particular reason as to why you’re so concerned with my aft?”

Prowl feigned confusion, and refreshed his optics rapidly. “Excuse me?!”

“Copper. Why are you following me?”

A heavy towing vehicle rumbled down the lane next to them, the breeze tugging at Prowl’s doorwings and nearly knocking him over.

“Do you think this is the best place to confront an officer?!” he cried.

The red mech nodded once. “Yes.”

They were going to get run over at any moment. Prowl’s medical policy with Station 53 would cover his repairs, but it would still _hurt,_ and if the other mech was hit too then there would be questions and interviews and _paperwork_...

“We need to get off the road!” Prowl shouted above the traffic. Another pack was coming. “I can talk once we’re out of--ACK!”

His view of the world shifted, and for a terrifying moment he thought that maybe he’d been rammed so hard that his tactile sensors had been knocked offline and he was spinning through the air uncontrollably. His doorwings sharpened down across his back as he braced for impact, but none came.

...He was being _carried._

His tanks were left behind as the red mech dodged around around a blue vehicle and then jumped over a minibot, then sprinted the rest of the way through the lanes and up over the barricade separating the walking path from the highway. Swears were howled at them as mechs and femmes raced by, and the red mech threw a few juicy retorts at them as he and Prowl made it out of danger of being in a wreck on the highway without being in vehicle mode. As soon as they were on the walking path Prowl squirmed and shoved himself down to stand on his own two feet.

“What was that about?!” His doorwings had snapped back up, angrily held high and quivering. “You nearly got us both killed!”

The mech brushed off his arms. “Got your attention, didn’t it? I didn’t want to stop and have you just keep circling the block and pretend that I can’t see you.”

“I was not--”

“You _were._ ” A black finger pointed into his face. “Now, why were you following me? And it better be something along the lines of ‘You had a cute aft and I wanted to see where it was going.’”

_What?!_

His battle computer did not calculate what he considered to be the perfect dimensions for one’s aft. At least he thought it didn’t.

Prowl took a deep ventilation of air, and kept his voice and faceplates steady as he responded.

“I’ve seen you before. You were watching me work on a scene.”

Whatever the mech had been thinking that he would say, that hadn’t been it. He froze for a beat, his optics wide, and that was plenty for Prowl to confirm that he did indeed have a witness to the murder.

“Why were you there?” Prowl pressed on the advantage of him shocking and surprising a witness. If the mech thought that he knew even more than that, he might given in more easily. He stepped closer, now in the red mech’s space instead of the other way around. “You were looking right at his fist before either me or my partner noticed the T-cog. Why?”

The mech tried to hide his alarm by snarling. “I haven’t been to any--”

“Crime scenes? You were there. I saw you.” Or rather, his battle computer did, and hadn’t made a note of some other face in the crowd to his cortex until it connected that he’d been looking right at the T-cog before anyone else, but Prowl wasn’t going to tell him that. 

“You going to arrest me for _looking_ at a crime scene?!”

Prowl tried to cool his tone. “I’m not seeking to arrest you. But you _saw_ something. You wouldn’t have been looking there before us if you hadn’t seen the T-cog’s removal.”

The mech scoffed, and crossed his arms again. “I saw Praxus’s best Enforcers getting shocked by a dead mech. That’s all.”

“What’s your name?”

“Spin Out.”

A lie, and they both knew it. 

“Spin Out, I’d like for you to come back to the station with me…”

“Oh no, no, no, nope.” Spin Out took a step back and raised his hands. “I’ve got better things to do than get interrogated by a bunch of cops all excited that they’ve seen a dead body for the first time in a vorn. I ain’t playing that game. Nope.”

“You saw--”

“A dozen other mechs and femmes saw your dead mech too. Go find one of them!”

A bit of trivia that his battle computer had concluded popped up in his cortex again, and Prowl decided to use it as he raised his chin.

“Too busy pretending you’re back in the open roadways and on your way back to Kaon?”

Spin Out’s engine halted so fast that it squeaked. The corner of Prowl’s mouth twitched up.

Bingo. 

“...Yeah, I want to be back in Kaon,” Spin Out snapped. “In fact, I want to be as far from Praxus as possible, and prissy little mechs like you.”

He threw up his hands, and walked in a circle as he shouted at everyone but the officer.

“Hey everyone! Is it me, or is a little fragged up that an Enforcer can interrogate a mech just for being a Kaonite?! That’s slag! I was doing NOTHING but driving!”

He was getting the attention of the crowd on the walkway, and beyond. Prowl’s doorwings flapped once. Extra attention was what would get a witness _killed._

“Quiet! Do you _want_ to get tracked down by the mech who killed--”

“And now he’s telling me to be quiet!” Spin Out roared. “Apparently I’m not allowed to speak my mind while I’m in Praxus?! What kind of slagged-up Enforcers does this city have?!”

It wasn’t implausible for Enforcers to be harsher towards Kaonites than citizens of any other city. Prowl was earning disapproving scowls from the nearby mechs and femmes at the very least, and possible media coverage at the most. Coverage that would tell the killer _where his witness was._

He briefly considered arresting him and drawing him out of sight as quickly as possible, but that would make the situation even worse if Spin Out carried on the whole way to jail. With a frustrated sneer of his own, he stepped back.

“You may say what you want. But,” he added, lowering the volume of his vocalizer, “I have reason to believe that you will be this killer’s next target if you continue to draw attention to yourself.”

Spin Out stopped calling for mechs and femmes to watch his interaction with an Enforcer, though Prowl knew that many optics were still on them. “You’ve got anything to back that claim up?”

“No,” he answered truthfully.

“Then if I’m in no more danger than anyone else that was watching that scene, I’ll be on my way.”

He gave the officer a sloppy, two-fingered salute, then turned around and vaulted back over the barricade between the walkway and highway. Prowl’s pump stopped momentarily, thinking that Spin Out was trying to deactivate himself, but the moment that the red mech put a foot down on the roadway he was transforming back into his vehicle mode. Still, he was coming on perpendicularly and had to skid around oncoming vehicles who were already traveling down the lanes, barely dodging them as he rushed to the farthest lane from the walkway.

And then came back.

Right in front of where Prowl had rushed up and gripped the barricade, Spin Out purposely fishtailed, wagging his aft back and forth in front of the officer’s face and kicking up dust before his engine roared and he took off, speeding down the highway and over the next hill.

Prowl didn’t attempt to chase him. Unlike the femmes from earlier, neither he nor the beat cops would be able to catch him without violence, and didn’t have a justifiable cause to arrest him.

And even if he did, he may behave worse than the high standards he set for himself as an Enforcer of Praxus when a key witness was behaving so _impudently._

The possession of a well-crafted aft did not give him an excuse to be _rude._

The worried feeling never left his spark, and he agreed with the battle computer’s conclusion. Spin Out knew who the killer was, and because of that, Spin Out was in immediate danger.

The crowd that had been watching them was dispersing, some with a few cheers for the Kaonite’s escape from what they had assumed to be a poor Enforcer. Prowl tried not to think about them as he stalked off and activated his internal comms.

_::Prowl to Chromedome.::_

_::About time you called. Jazz and I were getting bored. He hasn’t found anything that Barricade didn’t already log for us.::_

_::I’ve got something better.::_

_::No joke?!::_

_::It’s not much. Just the assumed name of our witness.::_ Prowl came to a proper access back to the highway and twisted his frame into the transformation before taking off, his top speed nowhere near Spin Out’s. _::But it’s something that Barricade might be able to use for us.::_


	3. Chapter 3

The shared office console beeped several times, a negative indicator to the search of the database. Chromedome huffed through his vents but didn’t look surprised.

“I knew it. Nobody is Praxus has registered that designation. ‘Spin Out’ is just an assumed name.”

“He came up with it too quickly to have never used it before,” Prowl insisted, scowling at the console’s readout. “Jazz, are you sure that you’ve never heard that name before?”

The program with Jazz’s ID popped up in front of the database search. _”Absolutely positively,”_ his voice chirped. _“But if he’s from Kaon and new to town, there’s a chance that he ain’t ever swung by this way long enough for me to see his face.”_

“So can we conclude that this ‘Spin Out’ hasn’t been in Barricade’s district and had never seen the killer until Whirlwind’s murder?”

“Not necessarily,” Chromedome replied. “There’s plenty more places to hide in downtown that Jazz has never been to, especially since he’s not wearing his badge.”

_“Gee, thanks buddy.”_

“Just saying that you can’t force entry on a building like we can.”

_“I don’t force entry. I_ sneak _entry.”_

Prowl interrupted Chromedome’s snickering by holding up his palm. “There’s a chance that Spin Out was somewhere the killer could not spot him while he focused on Whirlwind. Spin Out could have just come upon the scene, or have been around the corner or spotted the assault from a window. If the murderer was confident enough to leave a T-cog as a warning of his presence nearby, he won’t want a witness talking to the media and ruining his sense of control. Spin Out would have been attacked by now if the killer knew that he had been watched.”

“Then ‘Spin Out’ is wise to go by an assumed name for now.”

_“Are you mechs ditching the idea that Spin Out is our killer?”_

“Not yet,” Prowl said immediately. “Not by a long shot. But we don’t have anything to prove that he was the one who attacked Whirlwind; we only know that he was present.”

And there was also that itching feeling in the back of his processor that Spin Out was the one in the most immediate danger, but he couldn’t retrace his steps to understand why he felt that way, so he didn’t mention it. Whether the red med was a killer or a witness, it was still urgent that he be found and interviewed.

“We need a reason to bring him in. He doesn’t fear bringing the media down on our heads if we arrest a Kaonite without just cause.” Prowl refreshed his optics. “It’s as if he’s more afraid of _us_ than the murderer.”

“Unless he _is_ our killer.”

_“If he had nothin’ to do with it, and he’s a Kaonite, he might be thinkin’ that ya’ll will immediately convict him as soon as he’s in cuffs.”_

Chromedome crossed his arms. “Our first priority should be on finding the mech, regardless of how he feels about being linked to the case. The media can yell all they want; they can’t force us to let a suspect out of a holding cell.”

Prowl frowned. “Now you’re starting to sound like Impactor.”

“Really? I thought you were going to say that I sounded like Barricade.”

“...Speaking of…?”

“Yeah, right.”

Chromedome’s visor turned back to the console. “Gonna have to put another call on the line, Jazz.”

_“I gotcha. Good huntin’, mechs.”_

One long finger pressed the button to end the call, then began to type in Barricade’s direct comm line number.

“Chromedome.” Prowl’s voice was quiet.

“Yeah?”

“If we do bring him in, how long would it take for you to pull all the information we need straight from his cortex?”

A series of pings was sent along the comm line, naming Chromedome’s authority. “Breems. It’s not gonna be like Whirlwind; it doesn’t bother me as much if a mech’s still alive and kicking.”

“...If we get to interrogate him, I’d like to try to interview him first by myself.”

“Why draw this out? Don’t you want the killer off the streets as fast as possible?”

“Yes, but--”

He didn’t have time to finish. The comm line connected, then was followed shortly by a live vid-comm as Barricade slid back into the chair in front of his desk and laced his fingers.

_“Barricade here. Hello, Station 53. Dispatch hasn’t told me that our murderer has struck again, so I’m hoping that you’ve found something?”_

Chromedome spoke first. “We’ve got a witness.”

_“Oh?”_ The black Enforcer’s posture went from bored to alert in an instant. _“I’m listening.”_

“He’s not interested in talking to us, but Prowl did get his assumed name. Already checked the database and he’s not registered as a citizen or a visitor. Ever heard of a ‘Spin Out’?”

Barricade’s red optics narrowed briefly, puzzled, as if he was trying to recall how to solve a particularly hard equation. Then, after a few nano-seconds, his optics shot wide open again, and he leaned towards the camera.

_“You know what, I do! Small-time smuggler that’s been working between Praxus and Kaon for a couple of vorns now. Spin Out’s obviously not his real name, but most mechs like him don’t give out their real designations when they’re out of their home city. I think he works for one of the Pit bosses back in Kaon.”_

Prowl’s doorwings twitched up with interest. Spin Out _had_ been in Barricade’s districts before the murders had begun.“Do you have a profile on him?”

_“Sadly, no. I’ve never got the fragger in cuffs before. He’s a slippery one. Little wonder that he doesn’t want to speak to you; his involvement in the case will lead to an investigation as to why he was up in your district in the first place.”_

“Makes sense,” Chromedome nodded. “Problem is now he knows that we’re on to him. He’ll be just as hard to find as the killer.”

_“Please tell me the media doesn’t have a description yet. Once his face hits the main broadcasts, he’ll run, maybe all the way back to Kaon.”_

Prowl and Chromedome glanced at each other.

“We can’t keep our citizens in the dark. They’ve got plenty more optics than we do. They could help us.”

_“We also can’t let them be deactivated because our only lead got spooked and ran away.”_

“...I’ll talk to our station’s media contact,” Chromedome said. “We’ll work something out.”

“Tell them that we don’t want to cause a panic over one mech,” Prowl suggested.

“I was thinking something more along the lines of ‘You’ll get a better story about police sleuthing if you help us control what the killer and witness think that we know.’”

“Whatever works.”

_“When you nab Spin Out--”_

“We can’t _arrest_ him,” Prowl insisted. “We can’t prove that he’s broken any laws, let alone committed murder.”

Barricade scowled. _“Then_ I’ll _bring in something about his smuggling history once you two get him behind bars! Prowl, do you want to catch this guy or not?!”_

Even Chromedome looked surprised. Prowl’s doorwings lowered slightly.

Why was he so hesitant to bring Spin Out to Station 53?

_Because he’s in danger._

Yes, but why?

Unable to reach a conclusion for why his battle computer was coming up with such a strange answer, Prowl gathered himself and nodded his head once, firmly.

“I do. Let’s find him.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been a deca-cycle since Whirlwind’s murder, and they were no closer to finding the killer or Spin Out than they had been on the orn that Prowl had met him. It frazzled his circuitry that justice was not being met, but there was little else that he could do that wasn’t already done. 

Chromedome wasn’t helping put him in any better of a mood.

“You know, Chromedome,” he said slowly from his seat, his doorwings twitching on his back, “I thought you were making progress with helping to write a story for the media that wouldn’t alarm Spin Out or our murderer. I did not realize that all the extra time you’ve been spending outside of Station 53 was to help you _get a date.”_

His partner chuckled as he kept polishing his armor from his own seat next to the console. “Hey, I got _our_ work done, Mr. Maybe-I’ll-Bump-Into-Him-On-The-Streets. And then once the interview was over, the media contact and I kept talking. And then I gave him my private comm line, and we kept talking even more. And--”

“Now you’re going out for drinks.”

“Yeah, like most reasonable adult mechs do. Except you.”

“I like the quiet.”

“Good, because you won’t have me around the rest of the evening. _You_ can stay here until Springer kicks you out and locks the doors. I’m off-shift in a few breems.”

“Have you forgotten that we’re on the hunt for a serial killer?!”

“Have you forgotten that we’re _stalled?_ C’mon, Prowl. If I don’t have some sort of a life soon, my cortex is going to burn out.”

The console beeped. Chromedome all but flung the polishing cloth back into his subspace pocket as he yanked his chair around to answer the incoming call.

“And that’ll be him!”

“You gave him the direct comm line to the station?”

“He’s our media contact, shush.”

“But he _does_ have your private line,” Prowl drawled as the vid-comm with the mech came up on screen.

Like Chromedome, Rewind was visored and masked, hiding the more subtle of his expressions. An odd round piece of metal was bolted to one side of his helm, and it took Prowl a moment to recognize the front orb of a camera. Oddly enough, Rewind’s vocalizer sounded like that of an older ‘bot’s, but his tone was light-sparked and friendly.

_“Hey, Domey!”_

“Hey, Rewind. So, uh…” The officer spread his hands. “So this is what a cop’s workspace looks like. Neat, huh?”

_“I_ have _been to Station 53 before. You know that, right?”_ The mech didn’t sound unkind at all. If anything he looked amused at how quickly Chromedome was getting flustered.

“Right, right. Our media contact. My bad.” Grabbing his fingers at the air as he tried to come up with something to show him, he put a hand on Prowl’s shoulder instead. “And this is my partner, Prowl! He’s a pain in the aft, but a good cop.”

Rewind raised his hand again. _“Nice to meet you, Officer Prowl. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten you on camera before. Not at station, anyway. Maybe on-scene.”_

Prowl did nothing but stare at the vid-comm, his optics bulging.

Then took a sharp inhalation.

“Rewind. A pleasure. Would you mind if I spoke to my partner in private for a moment?”

_“Sure. Is everything oka--”_

Prowl jumped to hit the ‘Hold Call’ button before Rewind could finish. The gears along the base of his neck creaked as his helm slowly turned to look at Chromedome.

“...A mini. You’re dating a mini.”

“...So?!”

The doorwinged mech turned his seat completely around so that he could face the other officer, and held his palms flat, facing one another, as if telling him the size of a turbo-fox he’d caught out beyond the city limits.

“A _mini?!_ About this big?!”

“He’s not _that_ small! That’s not even the size of his--”

“Gah, _no!_ You shouldn’t have to think about what that looks like!”

“There is not a fragging thing wrong with dating a mini!”

“There is _everything_ wrong with dating a mini!”

“Like what?!”

“He--”

Think, battle computer, think.

“--You two won’t _fit!”_

The light behind Chromedome’s visor flashed, and it was his engine that squawked instead of his vocalizer.

“Are you kidding me?! _That’s_ supposed to be a problem?!”

“Everyone’s going to think it when they see you two!”

“Then let them also think of how we’d work around that while they’re at it! Primus!”

“It’s going to damage your reputation as a representative of Praxus’s law enforcement,” Prowl warned as Chromedome reached for the console.

“Oh please. Maybe if this was five-thousand vorns ago.” The call clicked back on, and Chromedome waggled his long fingers at Rewind. “Sorry about that. Prowl and I were having a disagreement.”

The minibot didn’t look amused or fooled. _“Work-related, I hope.”_

“Oh, definitely.”

“Precisely,” Prowl agreed.

“We have different approaches to things.”

“Mine usually works out better.”

“So Prowl gets jealous whenever _mine_ is the better one.”

Prowl shot him a nasty look. “It’s not better--”

“Better than your cut-and-dry--”

“--walking all over protocol--”

“-- _extra_ dry--”

_“Mechs, please!”_

“Sorry, Rewind. As I said, he’s a pain in the aft.”

Prowl huffed as he slouched back in his chair and crossed his arms, his doorwings flapping irritably. 

_“No worries, Domey. Maybe I shouldn’t use this line anymore.”_ It was more directed at Prowl than Chromedome.

“Maybe. I’ll call you back in a little bit, okay?”

_“I look forward to it. See you soon!”_

The call ended, and Chromedome whirled on Prowl.

“What in the Pit was that about?!”

“I don’t like him.”

“You’re my _partner,_ not my carrier!” Chromedome straightened. “Wait a minute! You’re jealous!”

Prowl scowled. “I am not!”

“You’re jealous that I’ve got something to do, and the best chance you’ve got tonight is if Jazz suddenly gets lonely and worms his way through the comm lines and out through the console port!”

“I’m going over the case notes, and _I’m_ going to catch a killer while you’re out with a _minibot.”_

“You’re not finding a slagging thing tonight, and we both know it.”

Chromedome’s fingers were more painful than anyone else’s when he flicked Prowl’s doorwing on his way out of his seat, and the white mech flinched and pulled the offended wing back.

“Go home. Get some rest. Read a datapad or something. But don’t burn yourself out on this case, Prowl. For all we know our mech got scared and is long gone.”

“He’s not,” Prowl insisted. “He’s still here, and we have to find him, or find Spin Out.”

“Do you _know_ that, or do you _wish_ that?”

...Chromedome had worked with Prowl for a long time. Somehow he knew when the battle computer had nothing to say.

Prowl pursed his lips together. That was all the answer that Chromedome needed.

“Go home. And stop being so fragging jealous all the time.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nearly everyone else was gone. If he didn’t leave soon too, Springer really was going to kick him out, and the last thing Prowl wanted was to have to deal with his commander right now. He leaned away from the too-bright console and rubbed his palm over his optics. 

There had to be some clue, something they’d missed, some teeny bit of evidence that his battle computer had picked up to give him such a rotten feeling of urgency to find Spin Out and find him _now._ But what? He’d read Barricade’s case notes so many times now that they were probably committed to his spark-memory. Nothing was giving him that familiar ‘alert’ sense that told him that his battle computer thought that it was important. As far as it was concerned everything that Barricade had written down was junk.

Maybe it was malfunctioning. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. Though a malfunctioning battle computer usually produced more dramatic and outrageous results than finding a confirmed witness to a murder.

And meanwhile Chromedome was out there living it up with a fragging _minibot…_

Prowl thought of his quiet little apartment, and that datapad that he’d been meaning to get to for the past deca-cycle. The case had eaten away all his free-time, and he’d only gone home to wash and recharge.

Chromedome was right. He should go and rest.

But, oddly, a night curled up with a datapad didn’t seem appealing. Considering how much he’d invested himself in this case, that made sense. He really wanted to stay and work, but he tried to focus instead that he should do something for _himself._

Prowl pushed the chair back and stood up to leave, then paused.

No.

He wouldn’t go home.

...He was going out.

The idea was fumbled around in his cortex, as if it were a slimey thing that he didn’t know how to handle. That _definitely_ didn’t sound appealing. Normally. 

This wasn’t normal.

...His battle computer wanted him to go out for the night?

...Slag it all, it really was malfunctioning.

With a quiet swear at himself, he logged off of the console, headed out of the office, and locked the door behind him. He swore that he could feel Springer’s optics on him from somewhere else in the station, and as long as he briskly headed out the door the police chief would be unlikely to crawl out and try to shoo him away instead.

...A drink from something other than his dispenser _did_ sound nice, and not just because his battle computer thought so.

Yes, that was it. It wasn’t his computer at all. He was jealous, he admitted to himself. He wanted to show Chromedome that he could fit in someplace outside of Station 53.

A quick change of pace for once, just to shake off the frustration of a stalled case. And he’d go right back to work in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will pick up the plot greatly, I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few more neccessary tags added, nothing major.
> 
> And now we get to one of my favorite scenes to write. ;)

It had been so long since the last time Prowl had been out and ordering his own high-grade that he didn’t know _what_ to order. The bar closest to Station 53 was in full-swing now that mechs and femmes with regular work schedules were clocked out for the orn, so Prowl allowed himself to get lost in the crowd and was almost forgotten by the bartender, which bought him enough time to scour the menu and decide that he didn’t need anything more fancy than a mix with lead shavings.

Chromedome’s words still danced around in his cortex, and he scowled into the cube as he leaned on the counter. He doubted that he was going to stay too long to need a table or booth, or even a barstool.

To the Pit with Chromedome and Rewind.

If his partner wanted to spend his off-time with a _minibot_ of all Cybertronians, then that was his problem. That didn’t mean that Prowl’s quieter habits were wrong. He liked to stay late, making sure that his reports were presentable and concise and that he hadn’t missed anything that would give him a processor-ache later. When he did finally go home, he prefered to spend those hours by himself, usually with a good novel. He didn’t need to spend his free time worrying over his friends, or, Primus forbid, a _conjunx._ Sure, he’d go out when invited, but if he didn’t do it on his own, then that was perfectly fine. There was nothing wrong with him; lots of mechs prefered the quiet.

...So then why was he here, a drink in his hand that he didn’t want, pretending to mingle with Cybertronians that he didn’t care about, and wasting valuable processor time trying to figure out drinks?!

Prowl took a sip, and tried to enjoy the warm burn of high-grade hitting his tanks, and then promptly gave up as his doorwings wilted.

This wasn’t _him._ And who was he proving himself to?! Chromedome wasn’t here, and neither was Rewind, and neither was Jazz. Pit, if _Barricade_ walked in right now he’d think that Prowl was trying to scout for his--

Prowl froze.

...This was a good place to people-watch, wasn’t it?

His battle computer, which always ran in the background even if it was only assessing the environment, habitually would come to an answer that his cortex had been pondering, and as long as the conclusion wasn’t outrageous he would follow along with whatever it spat out, until he trusted it as close as if it was his own instinct. But sometimes he didn’t understand _why_ it came up with certain answers; it was moving much too quickly to record its own processes unless Prowl was troubleshooting. It was like having the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle come together so fast that he’d forget where the seams of the puzzle had been, and in reality he’d need to recall those ‘seams’ if he was to explain his work. This is where Chromedome would often step in, having worked with Prowl long enough know how to retrace his steps.

But Chromedome wasn’t here. And Prowl _was_ here, and he was here because it _felt_ right. 

Had he been following his spark, or his battle computer? Sometimes it was hard to distinguish between the battle computer and his cortex’s processes if the answer wasn’t in the form of statistics.

He shook his head once, and then turned around to rest his back and doorwings on the counter so that he could gaze at the rest of the bar. If he was going to be stuck here because it uncharacteristically _felt_ right to be here, then he may as well do something to help his case and people-watch. Because that’s what he wanted to do, right?

Primus, he was so _not_ normal. But then again, coming here often enough to know the bar’s menu without looking didn’t help him solve cases. Or, not the way _he_ did it, anyway.

His optics wandered over the mechs sitting and standing around him. More had wandered in after him, and some were impatiently tapping their fingers on the counter as they waited to get the bartender’s attention, while others were finding a seat either at the bar or at one of the crowded tables or booths. A bunch of construction mechs were making rude jokes to each other and then bawling with laughter and pounding their fists on their table. A gaggle of younger mechs were giving their drinks worried stares and taking quick, short sips, as if they were not sure how fast an overcharge would come, and if Prowl had been on duty he would have asked to see identification with their creation dates. As it was he made himself keep looking, searching for something useful--

His engine hiccuped as his optics snapped to a splotch of red sitting alone in one of the booths by the window.

He couldn’t believe his luck. All he’d done was chose the closest bar to the station.

No. Fragging. Way.

Spin Out seemed preoccupied with something outside; his head was in his palm as he stared out the window, and he gave his energon half-hearted sips. But he was also shifting every so often, twitching, and they were minute twitches but just enough that Prowl’s battle computer picked up on them.

He was looking directly at Station 53.

He was speaking to someone over comms.

Prowl didn’t bother trying to to figure out how his battle computer determined that. He trusted that deep feeling that pulled at his tanks.

Or his spark? He wasn’t sure.

Either way, he was certain, more than ever, that this mech had some relation to his case. Why else would he feel so determined to find him if it wasn’t his battle computer subtly hinting that he fit nicely into the puzzle?

But Spin Out hadn’t wanted to talk, and if he was on comms and alone, he certainly wouldn’t now. He had to open up communication with him somehow.

And for that, Prowl didn’t need the deeper processors of the battle computer to tell him what to do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Spin Out startled as the booth shook as another mech squeezed in across from him. He then did a double-take when he realized who it was.

“...You’re fragging with me, right?” He sat up straight. “I’m just trying to get a drink, for Primus’s sake!”

“I know.”

Prowl kept his own half-finished drink, and the new one in his other hand was pushed across the table to Spin Out, clinking against the red mech’s previous cube of high grade and nudging it out of the way.

“I’m not here to arrest you or interrogate you. I just want to talk, if you’d be willing to grant me a few breems while you wait for your friend.”

Spin Out made a face at the new cube. “What did you put in this?”

“Nothing. And if you don’t believe me, I can give you credits so you can go back to the bar and watch the bartender pour the drink.”

Blue optics flickered up at Prowl, then glanced suspiciously at the glowing pink fluid, the flickers of blue magnesium dancing just under the surface. Slowly, as if it would bite him if he weren’t cautious, he gripped it, then lifted it up to his faceplates and sniffed.

“...This slag is weak. You’re not going to try to get me overcharged and stupid?”

Prowl’s doorwings flicked once. It really _had_ been a long time since he’d been out. ‘Magna-Meteor’ sounded like it would have at least impressed him.

“No. I would value if you trusted me enough to tell me the truth soberly.”

An eye ridge lifted up. “How long have you been a cop again?”

“I must be different than Kaonite officers.”

“And Praxian ones.”

Prowl did his best to keep his face neutral while Spin Out took a long swing from the high-grade, and he waited until the taller mech had let out a long, satisfied ventilation before speaking again. “I’m off-duty right now, but I’d still like to know what you saw--”

“This is nice, but it ain’t much of a bribe.”

“I only wish to talk informally.”

“Then I am informally telling you to go frag off.”

“Spin Out, please. I’m doing what I can to safeguard the community that I live in.”

“...You really are different than other cops. I actually believed you when you said that.”

“So then, will you help me?”

Spin Out gave him a hard look, but then his optics softened as re-assessed him, as if now judging him in a different light. Still, his plating was pulled down tightly, and his shoulders were hunched, as if Prowl would suddenly change his mind at any moment and arrest him. Prowl had interrogated enough mechs to know the warning signs of one about to go mute and defensive.

How could he play Spin Out’s game--

A game.

“I propose a game.”

Spin Out perked up. Prowl had blurted it out without thinking, and he hid his own surprise as he ran with the idea.

“We’re just two mechs in a bar, talking. And if we were talking as equals, you would follow up my questions with questions of your own. Does that sound fair?”

The red mech refreshed his optics for a beat, then smirked.

“I agree, but only if I go first.”

“Fine.”

Prowl settled, trying to maintain the air of poise and calm, despite his spark wriggling around its chamber at the idea that he was allowing a suspect and potential _serial killer_ to toy with him.

“What’s your first question?”

Spin Out put his weight on one arm, the one holding his high-grade, as he leaned forward. “Do you have a conjunx endura?”

His pose and tone told of the implied threat to someone close to him if this went sour. Thank Primus, Prowl could answer that one truthfully.

“No.” He kept his face schooled. “Did you witness any assaults or murders within the last deca-cycle?”

“Of course I did. I’m from Kaon. I watched at least a dozen mech’s hopes and dreams get destroyed and thrown into the sewage run-off before I got on a transport to Praxus.”

Irritation flickered through Prowl’s systems. He was quiet for just long enough for Spin Out’s grin to grow wider, the red mech knowing that he could bat the officer’s questions around for as long as he pleased.

“Got any special someone that you’re fragging regularly?”

“No.”

Spin Out scoffed. “I should have known. It’s obvious.” He took another swing of his high-grade.

“Where were you during the twentieth joor one deca-cycle ago?”

“In the factory district, about twenty klicks from here”

That was where the first murder had taken place. “Why were you there?”

“Ah-ah.” Spin Out held up a finger. “One question each. My turn. If you turn out to be worse than I think you are, who should I go after to get you to back off?”

“My partner, Chromedome,” Prowl answered immediately. “Now why were you there that night?”

The other mech frowned, and leaned back in his seat. “I was meeting up with a friend of mine.”

A truth. Or...was it? 

Was Spin Out partly confessing to stalking and killing a mech? Or had he really been in the area by pure luck?

“Have you ever killed someone?” Spin Out asked.

“Yes.” He was an officer, this was an unfortunate requirement sometimes. “Have you?”

“ _Yup._ Kaon sucks. Why were you stalking me?”

“What?” 

“Yesterday, in midtown. You were up my tailpipe for half a joor. Why were you stalking me?”

Prowl took in a sharp ventilation. He considered lying, but Spin Out was assessing him at the same time that _he_ was assessing _him._ Spin Out would know in an instant that he’d lied, and would have no inclination to give him even half-truths anymore.

“I recognized you from the group of civilians observing the crime scene. You were there, watching what we were doing. Why?”

Spin Out pressed his lips together tightly. “...I was curious about what you had found.”

A truth. Interesting.

Knowing what question he wanted to ask next, Prowl shifted to sit up straighter while Spin Out tapped his chin, thinking for a minute, before his smile returned and he stared right at Prowl’s optics.

“What’s the freakiest thing you’ve ever done in a berth?”

Prowl’s optic twitched. 

_Primus._

This was for an investigation, he reminded himself. And it wasn’t like he was telling Spin Out anything he could use to blackmail him. Embarrass him greatly, yes, but not blackmail.

“I’ve tried hanging upside-down off the bed while being spiked.”

“...That’s it?!”

He twitched harder and waited for Spin Out to stop snickering. 

“Yes.” He lowered his vocalizer. “Did we find all the clues?”

Spin Out paused, and seriously considered him.

“...I don’t know,” he murmured at barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what you’ve picked up. But you saw the thing in the mech’s hand, right?”

“A t-cog. Did you--”

“It’s my turn.”

“You already asked if I saw the t-cog.”

Spin Out’s engine grumbled. “Fragger.”

“Did you put it there?”

The sounds of the other patrons of the bar around them lulled on, yet, for a moment, they suddenly seemed very far away. It was quieter, and colder.

Perhaps it was from the look of absolute _contempt_ in Spin Out’s optics as he glared at Prowl’s.

“...No.”

...A truth.

Prowl couldn’t help the small exhale of air from his vents as the moment passed. Spin Out let the white mech calm and process this, then smirked as he continued his own line of questioning.

“If you could frag with any mech, who would you have in your berth?”

By the Matrix.

What was even worse was that Prowl had to think about that for a breem, his fingers drumming on the table as he tried to use it from the distraction that he was questioning and _being questioned_ by a suspect.

“...Someone who would not require much attention afterwards. I have too much to do than to worry about a conjunx clinging to my side. Speaking of which, was it a conjunx that you were waiting for?”

“Nope. Romantic, aren’t you?”

“How did you know that there was a t-cog--”

“It’s my turn!”

“You already asked if I was a romantic.”

“Aha!” Spin Out pointed at him. “But you didn’t answer!”

...Slag.

Well.

He could play Spin Out’s game right back at him, if it moved things along.

Sliding one finger up and down his own forgotten cube of energon, wiping away the condensation that had formed on its exterior, Prowl leaned his head forward towards Spin Out’s and locked optics with him.

“Only for the right mech.”

It worked. Spin Out’s own optics grew huge for a second, and Prowl’s spark glowed with the same pleasure from whenever he won a competition.

“How did you know that there was a t-cog in his palm?”

Spin Out recovered, and mimicked Prowl’s pose and the tone of his vocalizer, his fingertip circling the edge of the cube.

“I know how the mech who killed him does his jobs. He wanted to make sure that everyone knew that his target deactivated at his hands, and not from an accident.”

Another truth.

Prowl’s pump began to pound. The killer was someone that Spin Out knew personally.

And then his pump double-timed when Spin Out asked his next question.

“Would you ever frag with me?”

...Surely he misheard him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Would you ever frag with me?”

Oh, _Primus._

He started to open his mouth, but Spin Out cut him off.

“And if you lie, or deflect, then I’m done talking to you tonight. Answer me truthfully. Would you ever frag with me?”

Honestly, Prowl did not know how to answer that.

He was sure that his body language was giving it away. His jaw had swung open, and his doorwings had dropped. And yet Spin Out waited patiently, as if he’d asked him something as simple as which flavoring of energon he prefered.

What in the Pit did he expect him to say?!

...He expected him to run. To be disgusted, to yell at him, to storm out and find a different witness.

But instead, Prowl played right along.

He raised his doorwings back up high, almost to the point of signalling intimidation, and leaned both of his elbows on the table so that he could whisper low enough at a _growl._

“Only if you tell me your real name.”

He had to hold back the grin that threatened to burst onto his faceplates when Spin Out looked just as startled as Prowl had felt during his _insane_ line of questioning about his history in a berth. The red mech’s fans clicked on, blowing soft, warm air over both of them, and Prowl was certain that he’d struck something deep inside of him. 

He was playing with fire. A witness to his investigation, the possible _killer_ was attracted to him, and he was beating him at his own flirting game--

Spin Out made no attempt to cover up the now-hotter air billowing off his frame as his smile returned with a crooked edge to it.

“Anything else you want to ask me?”

Primus, he must have been _dying_ to follow up on that.

...Prowl was too.

This was honestly and truly _fun._

But the mech was either a murderer or insane. Or just very, _very_ attracted to him.

Either way, the game needed to end before it got out of control.

“No.”

Spin Out’s optics refreshed, and then his jaw dropped as Prowl got up and left the booth. “What do you mean, no?! Hey! Am I not an important witness or something?!”

“You are,” Prowl said over his shoulder as he headed for the exit, and did his best to recreate Spin Out’s smirk. “Maybe I’ll see you here again tomorrow night.”

When he could inform Chromedome what had happened and get the booth bugged before Spin Out arrived.

“But I won’t--Prowl! Hey! Prowl!!”

Three things happened quickly as Prowl whirled around to face him.

Spin Out bolted out of his seat to grab Prowl’s arm. 

In his haste, he bumped into one of the tables and spilled the drink of one of the overcharged construction mechs.

That mech roared in outrage and slapped at gigantic hand out at Spin Out, knocking him to side and straight into the center of another table, sliding across along with everything that had been piled on it and off the other end. The two femmes sitting there that had been previously giggling to themselves screeched.

For a beat, all activity in the bar stopped. Everyone froze and stared at the red mech trying to gather himself up amongst the spilled high-grade dripping off of his armor.

The construction mech stood up, ready to fight. So did Spin Out.

And, in an act that would have made sense if he were overcharged as well as the mech far bigger than himself, Spin Out howled a war-cry and threw himself at his opponent.

The sudden weight added to his chestplate made the construction mech stumble backwards as Spin Out found a handhold as he scrambled up on him and rapidly slammed his other fist into his helm, and the big mech crashed into his own table, destroying it. His crew yowled and leapt or rolled out of the way, then, upon seeing their friend in danger of returning to work the next morning with a cracked optic under Spin Out’s pummeling, threw themselves at his attacker.

To Prowl’s amazement Spin Out did an excellent job of holding his own. He dodged the first kick, rolled, then jumped on another construction mech and repeated the same attack, gripping his front and punching at his helm as fast as he could. Another snatched his shoulders and ripped him off, but before he could hold him to be presented as the others as a punching bag Spin Out threw himself backwards, body-slamming the smaller worker into the first one on the ground, causing both mechs to wheeze out swears as Spin Out scampered up. One of the broken table legs was snatched up in his hand, and he wiggled it and gestured for the rest of the construction crew to come forward.

“C’mon, you pieces of scrap! I’ve been looking to kick someone’s aft all day!”

The construction mechs didn’t look as confident anymore, now that two of their crew was down. Spin Out made a rude noise and waved the table leg around.

“What, you’re scared?! I’ve seen mech’s like you get their bits ripped out and--”

He was cut off as an airborne cube smashed into his helm, silencing him as he stumbled forward.

The bartender was not entertained by the fight and was about to throw another empty cube when Prowl rushed forward instead and tackled a stunned Spin Out from side. Both mechs went down hard. Prowl pressed all of his weight on the bigger mech as he wrenched his cuffs out of his subspace pocket and snapped them on Spin Out’s wrists in a smooth, practiced move.

“Somebody call the cops!” someone in the crowd shouted.

“I _am_ a cop!” Prowl snarled, pressing down on Spin Out again when the mech tried to buck him off. “But you can do me a favor and call the dispatcher for a pick-up!”

As the bar tried to recollect itself and murmured over the spilled drinks and damage and tabs that would not be owed, he snapped one hand up to the top of Spin Out’s helm and pushed his face into the floor.

“Be _still,”_ he hissed down at him. “I don’t want you hurt.”

“Fraggit all, Prowl, you said you weren’t going to arrest me!”

“I said that I wasn’t _here_ to arrest you.” He cocked his head to the side. “All I did was come in for a drink, and happened to find my witness starting a fight.”

“ _YOUR_ witness?!”

“You and I have more things to talk about on an official recording. Now lay still.”

At the same time he tried to grasp at the feeling of _alarm_ that surged through his spark. It wasn’t just caused by a fight coming out out nowhere.

It was what had caused him to turn around instead of walking out of the bar.

Spin Out had called out his name as he was trying to stop him from leaving.

He couldn’t recall when he told Spin Out his name.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eleven days without an update is the longest I've ever gone with a story that I'm focusing on! Hopefully that doesn't become a habit (I like to get updates out within a week), but I don't consider it that bad either.

The live feed of the handcuffed red mech sitting on the bench of a holding cell didn’t change no matter how long Chromedome stared at the console monitor.

“I still can’t believe that you were there in the first place.”

Prowl shrugged. “What can I say? You and Rewind inspired me to change up my routine. And just as I said, while you were out with a--”

“You haven’t caught the serial killer yet.” Chromedome’s visor flashed in a gesture that Prowl understood to be a scowl. “...At least I don’t think so. If you just nabbed him and can prove it, congrats. If not--”

“Then we have a witness, arrested legally on an unrelated charge, who we can interview and use to find the murderer.” Prowl leaned back in his office chair and laced his fingertips on his bumper as he smirked at his partner.

“...Don’t look so smug, smart-aft. Turns out that _my_ idea of going out for drinks was just what we needed after all.”

“Correction; it was what _I_ needed. Neither you nor Rewind were there.”

“Because we’ve got the ability to pick and choose a good bar! You just wanted to get overcharged at the closest bar to the station, you son of--”

“Good morning, gentlemechs.”

Both officers startled as someone with more servos than either of them stepped through their doorway and up to the shared console. Springer had the stride of someone who’d spent vorns in the military: relaxed but uniformly stiff, cool with an underlying threat of someone who could go from zero to sixty in a nano-second. It only took him a few steps to cross the office, grab an extra chair on the way, and seat himself at a table next to his two officers as he pulled out a datapad and studied it.

“A deca-cycle of a case gone cold, and you just happened to find your witness in your off-time. Not bad, mechs. Not bad.”

Prowl saw the beginnings of Spin Out’s processing record come up on his screen. So far there was little that they hadn’t been able to conclude just by having him present at Station 53: a photo of his face, his frame dimensions, his vocalizer patterns, and a sample of his CNA, which so far did not match the evidence from any open cases, including Prowl and Chromedome’s. That was unsurprising; no CNA evidence had been collected from their scene besides Whirlwind’s.

“Obviously his ID was fake,” Springer continued. “Dispatch confirmed it. I’ll be sending this along to Barricade, and he should be here to collect him in the next few joors. 

“Barricade?” Chromedome straightened up. “But this is _our_ witness! We got him, not Barricade!”

“ _I_ got him,” Prowl muttered before raising his vocalizer to a decent volume as he addressed the Enforcer chief. “Sir, are we not being entitled to finish our processing and interrogate a witness in our custody?”

“If Barricade gets his way, yes. He wants this ‘Spin Out’ turned over to him immediately.”

Flipping to the file that he was looking for, Springer expanded it, then turned the datapad around and held it out for the two officers to read. 

“--due to extenuating circumstances regarding a key witness in an open murder investigation--” Prowl muttered as he read through the request. “...He wants to do all of the interviewing himself?”

“ _‘Interrogating,’_ as he calls it. And at his own station. He’s asking Station 53 to keep Spin Out in isolation until he arrives.”

“But that’s not fair! Sir, with all due respect, we’ve _earned_ the right to be the ones to interview him!” The injustice of having to work through so many dead-ends and having his shred of good luck ripped out of his hands burned through Prowl’s spark. “We--”

“Are absolutely correct.”

The white mech’s vocalizer cut off, his optics went wide as Springer smirked at his Enforcer’s confusion and scrolled down to the end of the form.

“I don’t have to honor a request from some officer from another station if I don’t want to. But only--” he tossed the datapad onto the table, then leaned his elbow next to it-- “if tell me what you two did to frag him off so much that he doesn’t trust _my_ station to do its job.”

Stunned, the two officers glanced at each other, then at their chief.

“We’ve got Jazz working undercover in his district,” Chromedome replied. “Think he found out about that?”

“Who?”

“He’s our audial on the streets. Used to be one of us. While Impactor was still chief he fired him. He was a good cop, sir, and he helps us whenever he can.”

Springer refreshed his optics. “...I so do appreciate that _nobody bothered to tell me about him_ when I took over this station!”

“Sorry, sir.”

“So why haven’t either of you asked about getting him back on the payroll?”

“Without his badge, he can do some things that would be...uh, not something the media should get their hands on.” Chromedome raised his hands before Springer could object. “He can get further than any undercover officer ever could! That’s why he’s down in Barricade’s district instead of ours. If he gets caught, he won’t be linked to Station 53.”

“He keeps saying there’s at least one boss with a major base of operations down there,” Prowl added. 

Springer glared at them. “I want his complete profile on my desk before the end of the shift. Understood?”

Both Prowl and Chromedome nodded sharply. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, back to Barricade--”

“Jazz’s presence in his district is the only reason I can think of as to why Barricade distrusts us. I swear, sir.”

Prowl didn’t agree with his partner. That itching, unnerving feeling kept crawling up his plating and skittering around his doorwings, making them twitch.

_Spin Out was in danger._

From Barricade? Another officer?

“Barricade thinks that our interrogation methods are too soft.”

Springer’s optics flicked to Prowl, as did the light behind Chromedome’s visor. “Has he told you that?”

The look in Barricade’s optics the night of Whirlwind’s murder flashed through Prowl’s mind. _“You wouldn’t last a breem in my district,”_ he had sneered at the other two officers.

“He doesn’t respect us, sir. His own district is used to far more of a violent crime element than ours is. I assume that they use methods that would not be approved in ours, or anyone else’s. He intends to use those methods on Spin Out.”

He couldn’t prove it. But as the words spilled out of his mouth, his battle computer agreed.

Springer had slowly moved to sit up straight in his chair, one hand still on the datapad. 

“...I don’t need another incident like Impactor’s happening at this station,” he growled.

“It won’t,” Prowl assured him. “Not unless I can prove it without a shadow of a doubt.”

Chromedome looked lost, his visor snapping back and forth between his partner and his commander. Springer had only optics for Prowl though, and after considering him for a breem, slowly nodded.

He pulled the datapad close to him again, and pressed his finger down on the “Deny” option.

“With his witness out of isolation, Barricade will be coming here even faster to collect Spin Out and all evidence that you have gathered,” he rumbled. “I suggest that you move quickly.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You should just let me do it.” 

Chromedome briefly extended the syringe-like tips of his fingers, but Prowl shook his head as he looked through the one-way glass at the mech sitting in the interview room.

“No. Barricade can obtain any evidence that we collect, including the reports of what you find through your mnemosurgery. We can’t perform it and then pretend that he wasn’t touched either. Wouldn’t take more than a black light to find the insertion holes.”

“What if I make a report but don’t put anything useful in it?”

“You’re going to tell me _everything_ you find verbally, and never write it down? Recalling mnemosurgery memories isn’t _that_ good without a secondary record.”

“Did I tell you that?”

“You did.” 

At the same time an idea clicked on in his mind, and he considered how best to pull it off.

“I just need a description of what the killer looks like,” Chromedome muttered. “Something to at least give us a hint if this guy won’t talk before Barricade gets here.” 

Still staring at where Spin Out was slumped in his chair, Prowl rubbed his jaw in thought. “Chromedome, Barricade wants to do something to Spin Out that he knows would equate to _torture._ If we put in the report something that only a real witness would know, _anything,_ Barricade will use that as justification for whatever he does to him. I’ve already made a mistake by naming him as a potential witness.”

“So then, what do we do?”

Prowl glanced at the cameras lining the ceiling of the interview room. They were set to begin recording the moment that someone entered the room, and not stop until the last person left. They were recording Spin Out right now, though he was doing nothing at all, not even trying to squirm out of the handcuffs.

The cuffs not only restrained Spin Out, they also broadcasted dampeners to prevent him from activating his comms or other external subroutines once they were snapped on a mech’s wrists. There wasn’t enough time to question him in the halls or some other room without cameras either. Anyone could double-check Spin Out’s footsteps on the security cameras and note long periods of time when he was away from holding cells or the interview room.

The plan that Prowl had come up with was the most viable. But they wouldn’t have much time to warn him of what they were doing.

“We’re doing same thing that we did with Impactor,” he announced.

Chromedome started, his engine revving.

“...You’re sure? You’re really sure?”

“Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, but--”

“Good.”

Prowl didn’t wait for his partner to object further as he strode up to the interview room door and opened it, trusting that Chromedome would take his cue.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Spin Out’s head popped up immediately at the pneumonic hiss of the door opening. He sat at one end of the pristine table, his hands cuffed behind the chair’s back, and they rattled once when he saw who the officer was. The room was otherwise completely bare with the exception of the second chair at the other side of the table that Prowl headed for once he’d shut the door behind himself, and of course their reflections mirroring them on the wrong side of the one-way glass panel.

“Oh for Primus’s sake,” Spin Out moaned as Prowl slid into his chair. “ _You’re_ the one they have interrogating me?!”

“ _‘Interviewing,’_ Spin Out,” Prowl corrected gently as he placed his hands in front of him on the table, a quiet gesture that he was not going to harm him with a hidden weapon. It wasn’t much to rebuild a trust between them, not yet. “I would like to talk with you.”

“Go suck on a spike.”

“I am not here to talk about _that_ today. Maybe next time.”

The snarl that Spin Out sent his way would have made Prowl smirk if they had been in a different situation.

He let the red mech stew for a second, then took a quick intake of air before speaking in a slightly louder voice for the recorder. 

“Let’s talk about last night. You attacked a mech at a bar nearby this station.”

“He hit me first.”

“As I saw, and I can tell you from what I was able to witness--” he tapped his finger on the table lightly-- “the trouble started when you noticed me and tried to get up quickly. You didn’t want to be noticed by an officer, Spin Out?”

Spin Out crinkled his nasal ridge.

“I ain’t got slag to say to you.”

“You need to say something. You-” he tapped the table again-- “have shown up in this district twice now to cause trouble, first by speeding down the highway and claiming that I only confronted you because you were Kaonite, then assaulting a mech at a local bar.”

“He hit me first!” Spin Out insisted.

“And then you came back at him, hit him many more times, and did a number to his friends. He was at fault for beginning the fight, but you are not blameless if you continued it.”

“You drag all your bar-fighters into an interrogation room and try to shake them down for info!?”

“Only the ones that are hiding something more.” Prowl narrowed his optics at him. “Spin Out, you were in the crowd the night that this department was investigating a murder in the factory district, were you not?”

“Yeah, we already discussed that. And guess what? I didn’t see anything that nobody else saw. You’re all jumpy because a Kaonite was there--”

“I believe that when I saw you, it was the second time that night that you had been at the scene.”

“I was there because I was curious! I saw the body, but I ain’t important to trying to find who killed him!”

“Yes you _are!”_ Prowl stabbed his finger down at the table. “Spin Out, you are not here for disturbing the peace in the bar, nor are you here because the crowd may have seen something different than the Enforcers! You may know something about the killer, and you are preventing me from keeping the rest of the citizens of Praxus _safe!”_

He slapped his hand down on the table.

Spin Out didn’t jump at the sound. But his optics did open wider as he froze and stared at Prowl.

They locked optics, and despite his doorwings spiking up in apparent rage, Prowl gave him the barest, faintest of nods, short enough that someone looking at the cameras would think that he was only shifting in his seat.

Spin Out had gotten the message.

Thankfully he didn’t try to speak again, or even move as Prowl purposely checked his stance, exactly where his hands were, his fingers, his head, and even at what angle his doorwings were held. He stayed in his position long enough for Spin Out to get the idea to not move either.

The lights flickered once.

Prowl spoke quickly, his optics locked with Spin Out’s. 

“The recorders are being spliced. You have ten seconds to explain to me as much as you can.”

He held up both of his hands, the fingers extended, showing them to the red mech.

_Ten._

Spin Out’s optics grew even wider.

Prowl lowered his first finger.

_Nine._

They kept staring at each other. Another finger lowered.

_Eight._

Spin Out was still too stunned to answer. Prowl kept his optics locked on his.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon…

_Seven._

Spin Out took another beat, _six,_ to take a deep intake and steady himself before speaking rapidly. _Five._

“The mech who killed Whirlwind is working on a list.”

_Four._

“I was sent to watch him. Make sure that he was--”

Three.

“--completing his list. The mech who employed him--”

_Two._

“--didn’t know that I was here until you went looking for me.”

_One._

Prowl lowered his hands back to the position they’d previously been in. “When the recording starts, don’t tell me anything useful.”

The lights flickered again.

Immediately Prowl shifted, as if he’d paused for a moment while readjusting himself, and moderated his tone to be growling at Spin Out once more, an Enforcer in the middle of interviewing a troublesome suspect.

“I know that this isn’t your city, but you could do well for Praxus, for _Cybertron,_ if you’d tell me what you know!”

Spin Out refreshed his optics at him. Prowl kept his stance and hoped that he hadn’t startled the red mech so badly that someone watching the recording would notice that he was now freezing up.

...He didn’t have to worry.

Spin Out slowly grinned.

“You could do well for _me_ if you started up a one-mech Good Cop, Bad Cop routine. That’d be pretty hot.”

Prowl didn’t fake the wilting twitch of his doorwings.

Oh Primus, here they went again.

“Wha--That is NOT appropriate to be telling an officer during--”

“I wouldn’t mind if you weren’t appropriate!” He rattled his handcuffs. “C’mon, officer. I’m chained up. Ain’t going anywhere.”

This is _not_ what he had asked for at all. But it did work.

Frustratingly.

“Spin Out! This is not an acceptable--” he smacked his hand on the table angrily-- “way to speak to an officer during an interview!”

“ _’Interogation.’_ So how do you plan to make me talk, huh?”

Spin Out scooted in his chair until his legs were spread open invitingly.

“I can think of a couple of things you can do for a mech to make him talk.”

“I can think of a couple of things you can do to behave yourself!”

“Only for the right mech.” Spin out made a show of rolling his shoulders the best that he could while handcuffed. “Still want to know my _real name?”_ he asked with a wink of an optic.

Prowl spent far too long gawking at him for that one.

“...I would _love_ to know your real name,” he snapped. “Why don’t you tell it to me, and the camera? This whole station wants to know your real name.”

“Don’t know if I can accommodate so many mechs at once,” he shrugged. “Is that what you Enforcers do with suspects? Get him on a table and take turns with--”

“Oh for Pit’s sake.” The white mech buried his face in his palms.

The bubbling smile on Spin Out’s faceplates was bordering on goofy. “So you’re not into that? Just want me all for yourself?”

“You do realize that everything you say will be analyzed by other officers, right?”

“I’m counting on it.” He grinned up at one of the cameras. “They’ll be happy to know that I got further into popping your cap while chained to a chair than anybody ever has in a berth.”

Primus to the Pits.

Prowl put his hands back down. “Is there any point to continuing this?”

“Nope!” Spin Out exclaimed cheerfully. “Not if you won’t take me up on a most _generous_ offer!”

“We will speak again, Spin Out.”

“Not after the end of the orn. I know my rights, Enforcer.”

“Oh?”

Spin Out leaned forward, his arms stretching behind him. “You can’t keep me here without a reason. The mechs at the bar ain’t gonna press charges on me. That’s a waste of time and credits that they can’t afford on one bar fight. And you can’t hold me for watching a fragging _investigation scene._ You’ll need to let me go, or send me back to Kaon--”

He was interupted by a fist pounding on the other side of the one-way glass.

Both mechs startled and turned towards it. Of course neither of them could see anything, but they stared anyway, and Prowl narrowed his optics at the door at next to the glass until it hissed open.

Barricade stuck his head in, and glowered at the other Enfocer before beckoning for him to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so tired of trying to write on a tiny little phone screen.


End file.
